Fight The Real Evil
by dellaxstreet
Summary: Charles and Erik are a pair of politically active college students, forced to contend with such evils as: University health fairs, Neo-Nazi marches, and worst of all, a cartoonish president who's spouting some dangerous anti-mutant things... [Modern AU, mostly First Class universe based]
1. That's Not How Magnetism Works!

There were many upsides to knowing Erik Lehnsherr, not least of all that spending time with him was almost never _boring,_ but as Charles had learned since the day he'd first run into the other mutant, there were also a few downsides. The most relevant one was that Erik was sometimes physically incapable of not confronting someone if he felt very strongly in his opinions about something. And his manners could be completely appalling.

This had been very funny, the first time they'd met. One of the more conservative school clubs had invited a man to campus, and he'd proceeded to stand outside of one of their classroom buildings, preaching all manner of truly backward things at the top of his lungs, as though this was going to sway anyone. Erik, naturally, had been at the front of the crowd which had gathered to try argue with him, picking a fight like he was born to it.

Charles had admired his gall, he supposed, right up until the preacher got particularly belligerent in his hate speech and he could _feel_ the ripple of anger going up, so he'd run over to put a hand on Erik's shoulder. "Let it go, my friend. Ignorance like his is not worth wasting your breath on," he'd said, hoping this might derail him.

Instead, he got himself quite defiantly kissed by a near-stranger in front of a lot of people, to a round of entertained applause from onlookers, and their erstwhile preacher stormed off to go find somewhere else to convert the heathens. It was, on the whole, possibly the strangest way he'd ever met a friend.

After that, there had been a whole series of incidents. When there were anti-mutant rumblings from a group on campus, Charles had fought to keep him from making a scene in the middle of the student center, and ultimately had been forced to try to distract him by any means necessary. He'd mostly succeeded in dousing Erik in a very large cup of coffee, since it was wildly unethical to reach into a friend's mind and stop him from starting an all-out brawl, no matter how much he firmly believed that it was for his own good.

The worst had been the neo-Nazi group whom the university had been forced to allow to assemble, by virtue of their right to free speech, by far. That one had made Erik pace their dorm room furiously up and down for hours at a time, anger overflowing. "How can they put this above students' feeling safe? Over common decency? Over common sense? What about those of us who don't want these fucking _bastards_ marching through campus, just because they have to be allowed to hate us according to – what – the Constitution?"

"Erik, I know, but there's nothing much we can do, they have as much right to say what they do as you have to call them fucking bastards."

Charles knew he'd made a mistake the moment the words were out of his mouth, from the way his friend lit up, mind clearly whirling even if he couldn't catch more than surface thoughts, enough to pick out that he was plotting something. "No. Whatever you're planning, stop it, right now."

Which was, of course, how he'd ended up shielding them both from detection when Erik inevitably decided to organize a protest, and the protest turned less-than-peaceful, because Erik had been involved, and anything he was involved with did not go according to plan. It was one of the tenets of the universe, whenever he was within ten feet of Charles, as surely as the fact that he would forgive his friend for it, no matter how exasperated he was for whatever had happened, and the fact that he would enjoy the fact that it was _never_ boring.

It was hardly as if he was a law-abiding citizen, curled up around Erik under the bleachers where they'd taken shelter, using his telepathy to cloak them until law enforcement had gone by and they both burst into spontaneous laughter.

"So you won't help me plan a protest, but you will help me go on the lam? I see how it is." There was a smirk playing on his friend's lips, amusement bubbling up like warm champagne, accompanied by intent that was telegraphed so clearly that Charles found himself leaning in before Erik had even kissed him. There were benefits to a life of crime, it seemed.

The incident which was perhaps most in danger of highlighting the downsides of Erik's complete aversion to letting something go, happened a month later, at their university's annual Health and Wellness Fair. Wandering in had mostly been out of boredom, an act of seeing if they were likely to run into anyone peddling samples of interestingly flavored "health" smoothies or advice on how waving one's hands around a person's body helped with healing (last year, that had been one booth that Charles had just told Erik to walk slowly away from, because the placebo effect hurt no one).

The moment they spotted the sign for "Change Your Life With MagXap Insoles!", he knew that getting Erik to turn and walk away from this particular booth slowly was going to be no easy task. "Erik, don't," he hissed, "it's not worth traumatizing the poor man, he's likely in far over his head as it is..." But reaching for the other boy's wrist proved fruitless – he was already several strides ahead, making a beeline.

 _Erik! Get back here!_

 _What? I'm just going to talk to the man._

 _You're a filthy liar, Erik Lehnsherr._

Catching up to him, Charles stood beside him and watched in horrified fascination as the man running the demonstration asked a girl to stand in front of him and then reached out a hand to push her backwards, watching her stumble. "Now step onto the insoles, and watch this," he told the onlookers, proudly, as he pushed against her again. This time, she didn't budge. There was soft applause. "That's what the insoles can do for you! They're great for improving circulation _and_ balance."

"Circulation and balance? With magnets?"

The man turned to look at Erik, smiling, blithely unaware that he'd just been caught in the crosshairs of the one mutant who wanted to see him look like a complete fool in front of all these people just for the insult of claiming magnetic _insoles_ were a remedy for anything. "Yes! See, they're aligned with the magnetic fields of the earth, and that helps promote strength and align a person's natural balance. The magnets themselves also help, with the circulation, you know."

 _Has this person ever even been to a basic science class? That's not how magnetism works!_ The tone of Erik's thoughts was so utterly indignant that Charles had to fight very hard not to laugh, and in that moment, he hesitated instead of coming to the poor man's rescue.

"The only reason your demonstration just now looked as though it worked is because she braced herself the second time, since she knew it was coming, and you knew that going in. It's not a measure of how well the insoles work at all, and I think you know that, don't you?"

The man stuttered. "Well, yes, but I had to do that, because the insoles really work!"

Erik rolled his eyes hugely. "The magnetic fields of the earth could hardly be tapped into by something that size, you idiot! And do you know how much force a magnet would have to be exerting to actually affect the circulation in someone's blood? I'm half-tempted to _show you_."

"Erik, don't you dare!" Charles stepped in then, grabbing hold of his arm. "Please excuse him."

"Am I wrong?"

"That's not the point. He's just doing his job."

" _Just doing his job?"_

The man was looking back and forth between them like he wasn't sure if he should flee or keep trying to sell things to the other students around them, caught between the intensity of Erik's anger and Charles's possible ability to calm him down, if he just tried hard enough. But Charles had possibly just said the exact wrong thing to de-escalate the relative level of the other mutant's indignation.

"You know what I mean. Go send the company a very annoyed letter about its false advertising claims if you want to. Complain to some larger government organization. The FDA, if you must. Fight the real evil. But leave…" Charles paused to read the name tag on the man's chest, which was the polite thing to do. "Kevin out of this. He's a pawn in a much larger game. No offense, Kevin."

Kevin blinked. "None taken?"

Erik glared, and as his last act, pulled every single coin on poor Kevin's person out of his pockets, along with his keys and a pen, letting them float up into the air around his head for a long moment, while the man's mouth dropped open. "That, if you were wondering, is how magnetism works," he snapped, stalking off.

Charles exhaled a slow sigh, covering his sudden desire to laugh, and then turned to follow him. _Drama queen._


	2. The Sinister Coalition

2016 was going to be, quite possibly, the year in which Erik Lehnsherr spontaneously combusted unless constantly chaperoned. Charles would have said that it was exhausting, if he didn't end up _agreeing_ with the other man most of the time. He just didn't usually agree at quite the same volume level, which was apparently unacceptable.

"How can you not be angry about this?" came the latest rant, snarled from the other side of their dorm room, while Erik paced the length of it for the umpteenth time. It had gotten to be such a habit that Charles honestly wondered if he was going to wear a rut in the carpet. "How can you just sit there?"

"Easily. I'm saving my strength. You should, too, my friend." Flopping back on the bed, he exhaled a sigh. "Don't waste all your energy on that idiotic windbag, he's not worth it. It's surely not possible for an entire nation to be insane enough to elect someone that stupid."

"Your faith in humanity is hopelessly naïve! Of course an entire nation can be insane! Don't you remember Italy? Spain? Germany? They've all elected Fascists on racist platforms! Dictators have risen to power in stricken countries who needed propaganda for decades – centuries! That's how it's done! I just don't see how you can be so – so – calm!"

"I have a final in the morning, Erik. Go to bed."

A moment later, he found himself looking up into stony gray eyes, accompanied by a furiously fixed expression. This was the face of a man whose mind was made up. "Charles, he's going to win, and then we're going to be herded like animals, don't you see? Registration is a _step_ toward horrors! He practically told the country he wanted to intern mutants!"

There was nothing for it, then. Charles leaned up, grasped hold of the back of his neck, and yanked Erik down into a kiss, holding on long enough to make his point quite thoroughly. Sometimes, all was fair in love and war, and the only way to shut up a revolutionary was to use a dirty pull like shutting him up in mid-thought like this.

When he pulled back, Erik tried to glare, but didn't succeed.

"Come to _bed._ I really do have an exam in the morning, and on the off chance that I'm allowed to finish my education under a pro-mutant president, I'd like to graduate top of my class."

With much grumbling, Erik slid in beside him. "I still have no idea how I've fallen in with such a wide-eyed dreamer," he muttered, turning into Charles's shoulder.

"Well. I really am _very_ pretty, I suppose."

* * *

"What did I tell you? WHAT DID I TELL YOU?" Erik stared, wide-eyed at the television, which bore the worst news any of them could possibly imagine. The man none of them had wanted elected was winning, had won, was going to be running the country by year's end. And Charles honestly couldn't fathom how.

Well. He could fathom how. He'd been catching snippets of thought from the people around him, the kind of discontent which had run this campaign: People were angry, they were frightened, they needed someone who seemed as though he was going to upset the entire apple cart. But he'd run on such a hateful platform, told the entire country that mutants were a dangerous threat, should all be forced to register – and now he had _won._

Erik was going to have some sort of stroke. Reaching out, Charles rubbed soothing circles into his wrist. "We'll weather this. We've weathered worse. You know how to protest, don't you? Though do try not to make me go on the run from the law this time, I've had enough of avoiding policemen for one lifetime."

That, at least, got him a soft laugh. "All right. I'll do my solemn best not to get you arrested for any felonies."

" _Or misdemeanors,"_ Charles added firmly, eyebrows raised. He knew how Erik thought, after all. This got him the best imitation of an innocent look that his companion could muster.

 _It doesn't count if we're not caught,_ the thought was already winding its way through his friend's head, and he exhaled a sigh, knowing he was in for something.

True to his word, three nights later, they were running frantically through the streets, at the head of a protest which included burning the president-elect in effigy – which must have been Erik's doing, because the construction of the float itself was impeccable, and withstanding attempts by policemen to take it down.

"Destruction of public property!" hissed Charles, into Erik's ear, hand clasped firmly around his companion's as he shielded their group from view, ducking past a storefront. "Reckless endangerment! Disturbing the peace! You call this doing your best not to get me arrested?!"

"We haven't been arrested yet, have we?" The grin he received was manic, broad and full of teeth. "I trust you to keep us safe, Charles. Now come on. They're gaining on us."

Rolling his eyes, Charles starting running again. "I've fallen in with a lunatic!"

"And you love every minute of it!"

* * *

"What is _she_ doing here?" Erik jabbed a finger in the direction of the woman perched casually in Charles's desk chair, chewing on a pen as she pored over his notes. "She's baseline."

"I do have a name, you know." Looking up, she offered Erik a sweet smile that had an edge of sharpness to it, head cocked slightly. "I'm Moira. I represent The Sinister Coalition."

For a moment, he blinked, trying to process this totally foreign combination of words, and then asked, "What on earth is that?" while Charles leaned back on the bed, doing his best not to laugh. It was best not to ruin the moment, not when Moira had it so utterly in hand. She studied Erik calmly, fluttering her lashes.

"Well, you know that the next president favors mutant registration, don't you?"

Erik's eyes narrowed. "You're pro-registration?" And then he rounded on Charles, anger bubbling up further. "You're friends with a pro-registration _human_? I can't believe you! You're a traitor to your own people!"

"You have a short fuse, don't you?" Moira grinned at him. "No, I'm not pro-registration. What I meant was that the next president favors mutant registration, but the legal definition of a mutant is hard to pin down. So The Sinister Coalition is a group of us who're planning to register ourselves."

Now confusion was plain on Erik's face. "But you're baseline."

"A lot of things count as genetic mutations, though. If I had two different colored eyes, or I was ginger, that would make me a mutant. I could register. Or, if I was, say… left-handed? Which is what we are. The word 'sinister' comes from the Latin word for left, and it was used to refer to left-handed people once upon a time. So we're The Sinister Coalition. Do you get it yet?"

He deflated, which was an effect rather like watching a human balloon pop, as he dropped down to sit next to Charles. "So you're expressing solidarity, is that it?"

"Exactly. Fuck registration, and fuck this guy."

After a moment, Erik's gaze drifted from Charles to Moira and back, and then he nodded, extending a hand to her. "Amen to that. Pleasure to meet you."


	3. No Magnetism, Just Fists

It would have been difficult to say how Charles knew for certain, staring at the video Moira had forwarded him, that he was looking at Erik's handiwork. Electronic communication was, by its very nature, immune to his mutation; it was like holding a conversation and being unable to hear what anyone was saying. He could sometimes read lips and ascertain emotional context, but it was an imperfect art. Movies were essentially put life on mute, and all recorded images on a screen followed suit. So he didn't _know,_ the way he'd have known if it had happened in front of him.

The figure didn't really have identifying marks, either. It wasn't as though the man ran across the footage wearing a college hoodie or a pair of sneakers which could only be bought at one specific store. No, Erik would have been too smart for that. Which actually gave him pause for a moment – could Erik be relied on to be level-headed enough to think things through before he assaulted someone in front of a television camera?

Well. He could if it counted.

And, Charles thought, as he hit replay on the forty-five second clip again, he would definitely believe that this counted as "fighting the real enemy". It counted as something to be careful enough about to pull his hood up and wear fleece against the weather, enough to keep from being identified by his trademark coppery auburn hair. Enough that all anyone could really see of the attacker in the footage was that he was fairly slim and about six feet tall – and had a hell of a right hook.

Slim. There, he thought, honing his gaze on the shape of the attacker, maybe even wrapped in a bulky winter coat, would be something telltale about the way it hung. But it was no use. Staring at this again and again was only going to result in his watching the same thing happen over and over again.

A text from Moira popped up. "Get on Twitter right now. It's trending _everywhere._ "

Charles exhaled a low groan. Of course it was trending. Why wouldn't it be trending? Somewhere, he hoped, Erik was exceedingly pleased with himself. And if he'd felt like coming along for his boyfriend's trip out into the melee that was protesting the Inauguration, no doubt he would be more than aware of just how pleased with himself he was at this turn of events. This was what he got for refusing to supervise.

 _Just hold on until tomorrow._

Sure enough, as he clicked over, not only was it trending, but someone had already started creating the requisite spinoff art and creative output to replay the moment again and again, to backing tracks. Charles resisted the urge to bend and bang his head into the desk slowly and repeatedly.

"Tell me he's with you right now," he typed back to Moira.

"Right here, grinning like an idiot."

"Don't let him out of your _sight_."

The difficulty was, as it always was in these situations, that Charles wasn't even entirely certain he disagreed with Erik on this point. The man had been spouting rhetoric that had made his stomach turn, and he had deserved what happened next, whole-heartedly. But had it been necessary to do that on national television?

All right, he could finish this argument without Erik actually being present. Yes. Absolutely necessary. And they were back to him wanting to knock his head into the hotel room desk, slowly and repeatedly.

Opening one of the videos, he watched it play out to a particularly excellent musical selection choice, snorted in laughter, and shut the window.

Upstairs, three small children chased one another around their room while their parents tried desperately to get time alone together in the jacuzzi their suite had come with, and willed their children to quiet down. Charles considered the relative ethics of this, then nudged them softly in the direction of the television, where they settled back in watching some inane program about talking barnyard animals. In the next room, a businessman was struggling with how to tell his wife he'd packed an entirely different wardrobe for this trip, and Charles's heart went briefly out to the man.

Then the door to the hotel room slammed open to admit Erik, grinning from ear to ear. "The crowds were horrendous! We're going to have five times that here tomorrow for the protest!"

His enthusiasm was infectious, as it always seemed to be when he got worked up over these things. It was how he'd talked Charles into coming all the way to Washington at the end of his winter break when he'd much rather be back in New York, spending time with Raven. Of course, that was easier said than done when Raven was organizing a contingent from her own school, and his vacation had suddenly become a whirlwind of politics.

"I don't doubt that for a second," Charles said, getting up to kiss him lightly before he turned back to the window he'd left open on the computer – the original clip Moira had sent him. "Erik, is there something you'd like to tell me?"

He could sense the amusement and self-satisfaction rolling off of the other boy's mood in sudden waves, even as he seemed to be considering whether or not he ought to lie. Then he smirked, flopping back on the bed, chin lifting in a defiant expression that seemed an outright challenge. "Is punching Nazis in the face an immoral stance now? Go ahead, Charles. Tell me I'm wrong."

Damn him. Of course Erik would ask him to defend the relative morality of punching Nazis in the face. It was a zero sum game! Folding his arms, Charles huffed. "Bastard."

The triumphant look on his face was enough that he was struck by the sudden urge to wipe it off completely, and before he quite knew what he was doing, Charles stalked over and shoved him back onto the mattress, pinning him down by the shoulders. The shock Erik radiated gave way to smugness as his thoughts poured images of the moments just before he'd decided to do it in the first place – anger and above all a simple need to show the man for what he _was_ , whether it made him into some sort of idiotic victim or not.

 _You are utterly infuriating, do you know that, darling?_ He asked, kissing Erik as he continued to hold him in place. Under him, he could practically feel Erik vibrate with laughter.

 _I thought that was one of my best qualities._

Charles let out a mental snort. _Yes, well. You would._

At the door, there came a sudden flurry of knocking, prompting an irritable round of grumbling on both their parts as Erik leaned up to kiss him breathless for another few moments. Then he pulled back and called out, "Whatever you want, come back later! We're busy!"

From the other side of the door, Raven said, "You can still talk, so I'd say you're not _that_ busy! Open up!"

Charles nearly choked on his laughter, but rolled off, getting to his feet to cross the room and swing the door inward. "Yes?" he asked, but she was already shoving him aside and darting into the room eagerly, marching over to where Erik was sprawled on the bed.

"Tell me that was you!" she said eagerly, eyes wide. "I mean, who _else_ do we know whowould have punched a Nazi in the face?"

Hand scrubbing down his face slowly, Charles looked from his sister to his boyfriend for a long moment, while Erik appeared to be struggling very hard not to laugh. "Do you mean to tell me. That you interrupted my ability to make out with this man. Because you wanted to ask him whether or not he'd punched a Nazi?"

Raven turned luminous eyes to him, amusement dancing all over her facial expression as she ducked out of his grasp and moved over to where Erik still sat. "So was it you?"

"Of course it was me. No one else was willing to do what was necessary to shut the bastard up." Then Erik turned his gaze to where Charles appeared to be trying very hard to remember why he didn't just order people around all the damn time, because it was tempting, so tempting, to simply tell his sister to leave the room and have her obey him. It was tempting to tell her to leave and have her just _go._

"Raven, much as I adore you, and much as I would be happy to continue this conversation with Erik another time, I would very much appreciate it if you relocated somewhere else right now, or I'm going to call Moira. She is, if you recall, a track and field athlete, and capable of carrying you out of my hotel room, if need be."

Charles offered his sister his sweetest and most innocent smile, the one which told her that he absolutely meant every word of this threat. Moira threw shot put, and was not to be underestimated.

"You two need to leave the honeymoon phase! It's seriously disgusting, you know that?" Rolling her eyes, Raven threw Erik one last thumbs up and sauntered out of the room, shutting the door behind her.

"Was that really necessary?" asked Erik, as Charles proceeded to toss himself back down onto the mattress beside him, and turned himself to face him.

"Absolutely. Life and death. I could not have lived another minute without resorting to such tactics under any circumstances."

"Have I ever told you that you're a drama queen?"

"Certainly not to my _face._ " Smirking, Charles tugged him into another kiss.

Tomorrow, they could worry about organizing as many women and mutants as they possibly could to march on the Capitol, and what the country was facing under a lunatic. They could worry about changing the world when they hadn't finished changing themselves yet. They could worry about whether or not it was possible to identify Erik from the video if Charles and Raven could do it.

Tonight, they were going to enjoy the victory.


End file.
